Teetering on the Edge
by Jaclyn
Summary: Kathryn's world seems like such a black place.....but does she even care anymore? J/C angst.


  
© Jaclyn 2001  
  
Obligatory disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom owns Star Trek: Voyager, but this story is my own.  
  
This story (if it were canon) would take place somewhere around the fifth season's "Night."   
  
  
  
Teetering on the Edge  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
People sometimes tell me I need to sit down, need to stop for a while, need to take a break. They tell me to stop drinking so much coffee, to go to the holodeck more often, and to stop eluding the Doctor.   
  
They all talk so loud, and even in my dreams I hear high, shrill voices ordering me around like the cadet I once was. I toss and I turn and I fall in and out of sleep.   
  
Some days, I just wish it all would stop.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
{ S e q u e l }   
  
Part I:   
  
[ -=::=- Kathryn -=::=- ]   
  
I gave up sleeping last night; I decided it was more trouble than it's worth. Now I plan on spending the hours pacing my quarters, watching the stars.   
  
It was the stars that drew me out here, you know. Not the possibility of new alien races, new technologies, new medicines. No, it was the quiet lure of the stars, an inexplicable pull that I could ignore only if I ceased living.   
  
I stop suddenly, having just glimpsed a particularly bright star out of the corner of my eye. And then, suddenly, it's gone. Simply winked out of existence.   
  
Everything hits me at once, and I think I stopped breathing for a few minutes. The world is spinning dangerously. I'm afraid if I move I'll fall off, since it feels like I'm teetering on the edge as it is.   
  
I reach blindly to my right, looking for something to hold on to. A vase crashes, shards glancing off my leg; I feel the slick wetness of blood languidly making its way down my shin.   
  
I don't care anymore. I really don't. I don't know what's come over me, but lately the world just seems so horribly black.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Part II:   
  
[ -=::=- Chakotay -=::=- ]   
  
Had I been sleeping, I don't know that the crash wouldn't have woken me up. It wasn't particularly loud, and Kathryn didn't make a sound as far as I could tell. Luckily though, I was wide awake, listening to her pace restlessly, praying to whatever gods would listen that this would end soon and the Kathryn I knew would come back.   
  
Had I known how bad it was, I would never have let it go this far. I would have forced her to have dinner with me, to go the holodeck with Tom, to wrestle with theoretical impossibilities with B'Elanna. I would have done anything to get her to relax a little.   
  
But I thought she just needed some time to think, and that this gloomy mood would pass.   
  
Gods, was I wrong.   
  
As soon as I entered her quarters, I just knew instinctively that it was much worse than I thought. Kathryn was standing ramrod straight, staring fixedly out the window. I'm not sure if she was aware of the blood pooling around her ankle. I do know that she wouldn't have cared.   
  
I went to her immediately and wrapped my arms around her, quite a daring move. She didn't respond, not really, just sort of crumpled. It wasn't even that she slumped against me for support, as I had secretly hoped she would. Her legs just stopped supporting her. In my mind's eye, I could see her in a heap on the floor, with no one there, no one to care for her. Thank god I had come.   
  
I whispered her name into her hair. She didn't answer.   
  
I realized then that she was truly unconscious, and only barely breathing. Without my commbadge, and having no idea where hers was, I simply carried her to sickbay, her body limp in my arms.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
The Doctor sighed loudly. "I don't understand it. I've tried everything. The only feasible explanation now is that she just doesn't want to wake up. The body can resist the drugs sometimes, if the mind if determined enough."   
  
My throat closed up. I wanted to say, "Are you saying she doesn't want to live anymore?" but I couldn't force the words out. For some reason, I believed that if I said it aloud, there was a better chance of it actually happening.   
  
"So, does this mean we can drop the rationing system now? I mean, if she goes, there'll be no one to enforce it, so what's the point?"   
  
"This isn't a joke, Tom!" I shout madly, enraged by his callousness. "She could really die!"   
  
Tom's face went oddly blank, and when he spoke, his voice was toneless. "I know, Chakotay," he said, his quiet words loud in the oppressively silent sickbay. "And this is how I deal with it."   
  
I didn't know what to say to that, didn't know how to respond to the desolate, haunted look in his eyes. I have never understood Tom Paris. I could never decipher what he was feeling. He is a complete mystery to me.   
  
I hate mysteries.   
  
Feeling sick, I turned away.   
  
Kathryn's pale face stared back at me.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Part III:   
  
[ -=::=- Kathryn -=::=- ]   
  
I don't know how long I was out, and I don't know when I came to.   
  
In fact, when I did, I didn't even realize it. The line between reality and my own internal hell was blurred, and I couldn't distinguish between the voices in my head and the far away voices that visited me occasionally.   
  
". . . chemical imbalance . . . right cerebral cortex . . . possibly a result of excess . . . leading to . . ."   
  
I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to shut out the voice that droned on and on. For once, I was actually having a good dream. Chakotay was there. He was holding my hand.   
  
" . . . depression . . . --alathyzine . . .my prognosis . . . "   
  
<<>>   
  
But it didn't stop. Oh, how foolish of me to think that the noise could hear my thoughts!   
  
" . . . I suggest . . . "   
  
"I suggest you shut up," I muttered grouchily. My long-unused vocal cords ached.   
  
The noise ceased.   
  
"Thank you," I said, my voice now barely audible. I drifted back off to sleep a moment later.   
  
Had I remembered how, I probably would have laughed if I had seen the shocked expressions on Chakotay and the Doctor's faces.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Part IV:   
  
[ -=::=- Chakotay -=::=- ]   
  
Four days later, she still hadn't woken up again. I sat by her bedside for every moment I was officially off-duty. I brought my work with me, and I read the reports to her before signing them. One night I even told her I had fallen in love with her. The Doctor suggested that maybe the sound of my voice would convince her to rejoin the world of the living.   
  
It didn't.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
. . . And now it's been two months.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Part V:   
  
[ -=::=- Kathryn -=::=- ]   
  
There is something akin to a battle raging inside my head. Part of me yearns to wake up, to answer Chakotay when he talks to me. I can hear him. His voice is faint, but it's there. When he told me loved me, I could feel myself yearning to swim back to consciousness, to break the layer of depression that encompassed me, but . . . the other part of me just couldn't do it.   
  
The other part of me is just so tired.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Part VI:   
  
[ -=::=- Chakotay -=::=- ]   
  
It's been a year now. The Doctor told me he is considering euthanasia, since morale has plummeted since that fateful day when the Captain collapsed in my arms.   
  
No, not in my arms. On them. But why quibble with semantics?   
  
He says drawing out the Captain's death is just too painful. Maybe he's right. The crew is sullen, and I haven't heard anyone laugh in ages. Of course, it's not like I've been the most social person either. The only person I talk to is Kathryn, and she doesn't talk back.   
  
For a moment, I actually thought seriously about his suggestion. But then I realized it would hurt the crew more knowing they'd taken away her last chance to live. As painful as the current situation was, at least we couldn't blame ourselves.   
  
Well, I blamed myself. But then I'm a different story.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
I didn't come visit you today, Kathryn. Do you know why?   
  
It hurt too much. Seeing you there, knowing I probably could have prevented it, and knowing that you wouldn't wake up for me, even when I confessed my feelings for you . . . well, there's only so much a man can take.   
  
So after my shift ended, I just went straight to bed.   
  
I had only been sleeping for about an hour when the Doctor's hail woke me up.   
  
I fumbled for my commbadge, finally found it, and replied in a quick tumble of words. "Chakotay here. No, I'm not coming to visit the Captain today. I realize you were probably expecting me and I'm late, but that's because I'm not coming. I need a break. I can't anymore-"   
  
"Chakotay."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"The captain has-- well, the captain has left us . . ."   
  
_Oh my god_.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
  
Epilogue:   
  
[ -=::=- Chakotay -=::=- ]   
  
I'm sure it's just a coincidence. I'm sure the fact that Kathryn died the night I didn't come, after I spent over a year visiting her every single day, is just a quirk of fate.   
  
But if it isn't . . . then I single-handedly killed her.   
  
Because I am a coward. I couldn't face her when she needed me most.   
  
_Forgive me, Kathryn. For I have failed you_.   
  
_I'm sorry_.   
  
But of course, Kathryn can't hear me. Kathryn is dead.   
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-   
_fin  
  
__[Jaclyn][1] (musicnotej@aol.com) -- The author craves feedback..  
---- Please include an appropriate subject, or I might accidentally delete it!  
  
_

   [1]: mailto:musicnotej@aol.com



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